Assless Shorts
by T'Vau
Summary: A series of short --emphasis on the short-- one shots, focusing on Penelo and our favorite Viera.
1. Stranded in Time

_Due to my complete inability to write fiction of a substantial length, I have decided to group several of my unintentional one-shot short shorts in one collection. That is, assuming this gets reviews. If it doesn't, then screw all of that._

Fran is sexy when she's berserk. Her muscles bulge beneath her flushed skin, chest heaving with each labored breath, and the air thick is with arrows as she shoots frantically. It isn't long before the foe falls, its neck pierced, blood staining the white of its fur and snow bright red. She wheezes as she breathes, stumbling and looking wildly for another. Penelo places her hand on her shoulder, urging the Viera gently to the ground, but she does not go easily, and Penelo has to practically kneel in her lap to get her to sit. Her skin is slick with sweat, hair sticking to the sides of her face, and Penelo does her best to smooth it away.

"Fran, it's alright," she says, knowing her words are incinerated in the Viera's fever.

Esuna takes only moments to muster, but Fran senses it, and grabs Penelo's wrist in panic. Brown eyes meet hellish red, and the seconds hang thick before it leaves the mage with a soft burst. Relief washes over Fran's features, and she slumps against a rock, clarity slowly displacing confusion.

"You were beserk..." Penelo says, but suddenly the orphan is overwhelmingly aware of Fran's thigh between her's, the musky smell of her sweat, and the enticing closeness of their lips.

It is said that time magick is just a trick of the mind, and in this instant, Penelo is convinced. Years pass as they taste each other's breath, indifferent and unaware of the rest of their party.

At least until a well aimed bullet scuffs the rock, and Balthier once again saves the day.

"A woman at last, Fran?" Balthier says, adjusting his cuff sleeves and watching Fran brush the dust from her ass. They lead the group by a safe distance, and Penelo has since scuttled off to the back of the group, concentrating on conquering the flame in her cheeks.

"The humes," she says, "They have a word for you."

"Oh? What's that?"

Fran's body language –a pause, the hand and on hip, head tilted, ears relaxed back. Balthier has come to know and love it.

"Cock blocker."


	2. Between the Sheets

Fran cannot sleep on top of the covers.

Penelo knows this.

Penelo loves this.

Fran is standing naked, and it is a magnificent feat of balance as she stands tight calved and shoeless on her tippy toes, an equally bare Penelo suspended in one arm, and the long clawed fingers of her other hand peeling back the tousled nest of covers.

The orphan wheezes in her sleep, her head heavy on Fran's shoulder. Affection is a curious thing, for Fran, in her state of heightened hearing, manages to find her lover's snoring adorable rather than heinously irritating.

Slowly, carefully, she lowers the younger girl, her muscles making her fully aware that she is not as young as she once was. Every inch is an exercise in anxiety, the possibility of Penelo waking and voiding all of her effort a daunting threat.

Finally, with patience comes success, and the Viera sighs contentedly, her prize nestled beneath the sheets next to her. She shifts onto her side, arm snaking across Penelo's bare belly, and closes her eyes.

"Fran?" Penelo whispers, voice cottony with sleep. She smiles, the Viera's ear quirking as her eyes remain shut, exhaustion overwhelming her. Penelo kisses that ear, lips tracing her words.

"I love you."


	3. Erogenous Zones

_Certainly not my...uh, region of choice, but I'd lick any bit of Fran with no qualms. Reviews are appreciated, especially the ass kissing ones._

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Penelo has outgrown her obsession with Fran's aural organs. Sensitive, but not quite erogenous, Fran is almost grateful for the absence of the endless ear kissing and stroking..._almost._ Penelo, however, has wasted no time in searching for another spot of infinite delight.

Neck? Chin? Shoulder? A dozen kisses, but no...much too banal, utterly common.

Breasts? Well, Fran certainly enjoys it. Her dark nipples are stiff against Penelo's lips, and the stifled moans and shuddering gasps are a definite plus, but...really, _boobs_? How base.

Belly? Solid muscle, yet so soft and supple. Fran told her one night, as she was kissing Penelo's own admittedly rounded tummy, that the Wood, in her seemingly paradoxical creation, made it physically impossible for the Viera to become ripped, to further the embodiment of feminine perfection. It was certainly nice, but not exactly the most intimate of spots.

Thighs? Smooth, strong, and terrifyingly powerful. Her lips gloss over the soft white expanse of Fran's mound as she explores, and quirk devilishly as she considers it.

Ankles? Much too thin, too delicate, too unlike her wickedly vigorous lover.

But..._Feet?_ Fran's feet are her best kept secret. The shoes rarely, if ever, come off, and Penelo supposes it must be because Viera have a definite preference for mobility but...it can't hurt to remove them just this once, only to see.

Fingers snake around, deftly unknotting the leather straps. A solid _thunk_ signals the steel stilettos departure, and suddenly, with a loud moan unwittingly escaping her throat, Fran is arching, looking down at her young lover with wild heat in her eyes.

_Aha._

The orphan sits up, grinning at the extraordinarily aroused Viera.

"Good spot?"

The appendage _is_ rather lovely. Slim and lanky by Hume standards, with three long, dark claws protruding out of the toes. Different, but she supposes she and Fran are different. A young, orphaned female Hume, with an exiled Viera far more than twice her age –certainly not everyday fare. Indeed, the more she thinks about it, her tongue tracing a swirling path, the more she comes to realize the lovely limb's significance.

She presses her lips to the soft sole, eliciting another stifled gasp, and Penelo decides that feet are _perfect._

Fran's knees over her shoulders, Penelo slides forward to capture Fran's lips in her own, the Viera's lavish wetness against her own arousal utterly intoxicating.

"You are," Fran says between kisses, "absolutely devilish."

"And you," Penelo says, "are absolutely divine."


	4. Dust Motes

**Okay, I haven't updated this in a long time and I felt like I should, so here this is. It isn't anywhere near as short as the other ones, I know, but it's not worth it to post it as another story. I _just_ wrote it, and I haven't proofread it yet because I'm _lazy_ and my ass hurts like crazy. I also couldn't figure out how to end it, so sorry about that. I might come back and fix it. Might.**

**Oh, and a buttload of thanks for those of you sweet enough to review and/or add to your favorite stories.**

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Having been planted smack in the middle of the desert, Rabanastre was no stranger to dust. It could not escape the epic sand storms that wracked the surrounding land, and even the cleanest of homes was littered with sand and dust. But this morning, it was too hot even for the dust, Fran noted, as the sun poured through the window and illuminated the oddly clear atmosphere.

The swollen wood opened with a mournful creak, and Penelo, looking every bit the desert princess, came slinking back, gingerly clutching two cups brimming with wine. She was barefoot, wearing only parachute pants and a leather vest, and her two braids had been wound together and pinned on top of her head.

"I hope you weren't expecting one of these," she asked as she made her way towards the bed and all but drained the first cup. Wine was not, as a rule, a drink widely available to the piteous orphans of Rabanastre. But their recent adventure had provided them lavish gil, and now scarcely a day went by without Penelo guzzling a flagon all on her own. Fran supposed she should worry, but Penelo managed to be an utterly adorable, if somewhat mischievous, drunk, and she could not bring herself to raise the issue.

"You will get fat drinking all of that," Fran said as she reached up and snatched the second cup away, slopping the sticky red over the edge. An indignant grunt was Penelo's reply, as she waited until Fran brought it to her lips before grabbing it back slopping the rest down her chin and chest.

"You've got me all wet now, Fran," she pouted, jutting her lower lip and gazing sullenly at the sticky red wasteland of her chest. The Viera quirked an ear, knowing full well what a hume cliché this situation was, but she supposed since she was one now, she might as well join them. Smiling, she leaned in for a kiss.

"Mmmm, I suppose we will have to clean that up."

And, two hours later, Penelo was sufficiently cleaned and Fran sufficiently exhausted. But both knew that extending their absence any further would bring Balthier, or worse, Vaan, poking around, and it was with much grunting and sighing, provided mostly by Penelo, that the two women rose.

And it was here that Fran was confronted with her so-called armor.

"And you say _I'm _the one who's getting fat?"

Fran certainly looked sexy when "fully" clad, but watching her get to that point was another matter. Flesh bulged as the Viera attempted to wrench iron panties over her thighs, and grunts most unbecoming were being issued with a startling frequency.

'This material simply has no give," she said, "Help me with these buckles."

Penelo stepped forward to lend a hand, attempting to yank Fran's corset shut, but it was no use. Fran held her breath and sucked it in, and her dusky skin turned to white as their efforts drove the blood from her skin, but still it would not clasp.

"I can't. Fran, you're too pudgy," Penelo said, also failing to hold back the giggles.

But her laughter was quickly killed along with whatever poor rats happened to be nesting below the floor boards as Fran's heel hit it with a frighting intensity.

"I am NOT pudgy."

The outburst was so unexpected that Penelo couldn't help but burst into a fit of giggles again, this time flopping back onto the mattress. "Then why can't you fit into your own clothes? Face it, you're a beautiful, sexy, _pudgy_ Viera."

Fran's ears twitched and Penelo could have sworn she'd heard her growl.

"Get me a rope," she grunted.

"A...rope?"

"We'll _sinch_ it shut."

"No, Fran," Penelo began, getting up and sliding behind her lover, "Maybe all this heat...maybe it just made your armor uh..._shrink_ a little bit."

The thought seemed to have cheered her somewhat. "Yes...I had not thought of that."

"Yeah, that's it. You can fit into some of my clothes, just for tonight, until this heat passes."

And so that was how Fran ended up in baggy half-shorts that only managed to be half-shorts on the young hume, beneath which she still wore her iron panties, and her chest was covered with a leather vest with a myriad of pointless buckles. Upon entering the inn's bar, Balthier whistled.

"Get too big for your britches again, old fr--"

"I suggest you hold your tongue lest we discover the unsavory details about what's contained in _your_ britches, old friend," Fran snapped.

"Britches? Why, Fran, whatever are you talking about?"

As the sky pirate stalked off, Penelo shot a suspicious look at Fran, but held her tongue. Instead, she laced her fingers through her lover's, and led her towards an empty table. Ten minutes later, amid a light meal of bread and olives and, of course, wine, a waiter approached, pock faced and awkward.

He set a plate in front of Fran and said, "Um, courtesy of, um...that man there." He gestured towards the bar where Balthier smiled and gave a wave, before being pelted in the eye with an enormous carrot.


End file.
